


do you mind if i come in for a bit

by AngelsAvengeMe



Category: Machine Gun Kelly (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, RPF, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsAvengeMe/pseuds/AngelsAvengeMe
Summary: How can pain be explained?Colson didn't know but he wished he did.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	do you mind if i come in for a bit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sagamohr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagamohr/gifts).

> There's a lot of saaaaaad thoughts/feelings in this so PLEASE DON'T read this if it's in anyway potentially triggering for you. Your mental health means more than any fanfic (or piece of art--no matter how loose the definition--in general). Take care of yourselves, especially during this quarantine! 💕 
> 
> Please heed the tags! 
> 
> \----
> 
> Title is a quote from the show "Council of Dads" lol 🤪🙈  
  
\----
> 
>   
For my BFFL @Sagamohr who has the patience of a gd saint holy moly brogi

_Watch me take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night _

_Catch me, I'm the one on the run away from the headlights _

_No sleep, up all week, wasting time with people I don't like _

_I think something's fucking wrong with me_

\- “I Think I’m OKAY”, Machine Gun Kelly

How can pain be explained? Not the kind sourced from blood tracing its way down your face like a route on a map or careless words uttered by those closest to you. No, this kind was different. It didn’t have a cause that was easily noticed and fixed. This pain was insidious and cavernous. It was the kind that slowly plucked at your insides until there was nothing but an infinite abyss so cold—so lonely—that there was paradoxically no room left for anything else.

Colson knew this kind of pain intimately.

But how does someone explain that kind of pain to those who don’t understand? To the ones who haven’t been through the trenches and experienced the horrors firsthand, right there with you? Was it even possible or was language too limited a medium?

Maybe that’s why he found himself sitting on the edge of the hotel’s roof; no one could ever understand the turmoil within. He could rap and sing and scream until his throat bled and his eyes rolled in his skull, but in the end, they were just meaningless words spewed to people who interpreted them as they pleased—or didn’t. No one knew his pain, not really.

He took a shaky drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs, holding it in until it hurt and he was forced to expel it. The smoke soon curled and floated away, dissipating like it had never been there, just another figment of his overactive imagination.

With one last drag, he flicked the cigarette away, watching it spin and drop until it became a speck amongst specks on the hard, gum sullied sidewalk below.

Maybe pain wasn’t the right word. It was something inherently intertwined with it though. Something more grotesque and tar-like, leaving a bad taste in your mouth that you could quite never scrub out.

Emptiness.

He was empty. There was nothing real inside him. He was a facsimile of himself, nothing more, nothing less.

Why did it feel so heavy though? It was uncomfortable, something that started at the top of his head and dripped down ’til it made his shoulders sag, his legs drag, and the pit of his stomach ache like a festering sore. Drugs, alcohol, money, sex, violence. None of it made a difference. None of it made him feel a goddamn thing no matter how far he took it.

The shaking didn’t stop, even as he got to his feet. Distantly, he realized it was freezing out, the wind whipping past him so brutally his eyesight began to blur with unshed tears. All he knew was that if he took one step forward—just one—he’d be dead. His life would be over. The emptiness, the heaviness, it would all be gone, like it’d never been there. God it was tempting, so fucking tempting. What was the point of being alive if you were already dead in every way that mattered except one? He might as well have already been in his coffin. All he needed now was to be lowered and have the dirt piled on top until he was as out of sight as he was out of mind.

Holding out his foot, he let it dangle over the edge, like a macabre ballerina poised to begin their routine. Just one step. One step.

One step.

With a deep breath he took one last look at the skyline, searing the image into his brain—something to keep with him as a token into the afterlife. He closed his eyes, let out the air in his lungs and jumped—

Only to flail and fall backwards as a shriek cut through the air. Pain shot through his elbows and backside as he connected with the hard gravel surface of the rooftop. The rapid thumping of his heart made it hard to breathe. He gulped in air, willing himself to settle. Then, another shriek echoed, this time followed by the unmistakable sound of a child giggling.

Getting onto his hands and knees, he scrambled forward and peered over the ledge. Below, a young girl, maybe six or so, ran from a woman who was crouched low like an umpire. As the young girl ran past, the woman grabbed for her, a cacophony of shrieks and laughter following as she was caught and tickled.

Before he knew what was happening, his late night snack made a reappearance.

After one last gag, he sagged against the ledge, wiping his mouth with the back of his shaky hand. Fuck. It felt like he’d been forced to go cold turkey after a sucker punch. He couldn’t catch his breath he was vibrating so hard. Sick and disjointed. That’s all he could feel.

Was this what happened when the body caught up with the mind? He’d been so close to killing himself and now every part of him knew it.

Holy shit.

He rocked forward, gripping his hair so hard he swore strands ripped free.

God. He’d tried to kill himself.

That family… they would’ve witnessed it. They would’ve heard the smack—seen the carnage. Would it have been obvious it was him? Or would his skull have been smashed apart like a rotten pumpkin? Would they even know who he was? Would paparazzi descend upon his corpse like vultures on the hunt? Is that how Casie would find out?

Fuck.

Casie.

He let out a deep breath and looked up. The starless sky was still there, the dark clouds above vibin’. It was like nothing had happened.

Is that why he felt so empty? Because the Earth itself was in its own grand scheme? Whatever happened—even if it was the worst thing humankind could think of—didn’t stop it’s rotation, didn’t stop everything around it from continuing on like business as usual. The Earth was as inconsequential to the universe as he was to the Earth.

Fuck, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t even high for God’s sake. A slightly deranged laugh slipped from him before he knew what was happening. He let it over take him, drowning him in a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long he wasn’t sure he could still name it. 

On wobbly legs, he stood, wiping snot from his nose. An eeriness built in the pit of his stomach and spread, forcing a faux-calm over him. He could do this. He could put on a mask and continue on like nothing had happened. Like his own little world hadn’t been rocked, creating an endless spider web of “what ifs”.

He could do this.

He could.

He opened the door and returned to his real life, the sun threatening to peak out from behind the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> Take care of yourselves 💕 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines


End file.
